Kirklands Forever
by kaida-amarante
Summary: Rated T for cussing. A look back on the Kirklands growing up. Centers around hair, family, and Wales's name. Human names used. Crack fic ish? Fluff, angst, humour, and brotherly love.


**AN: So...I was talking about Mama Britannia and Papa Celt with a buddy of mine and I said that Britannia would look like Wales and England and Papa Celt would look all rough, so Wales would go up to him and be like "Papa, how'd you get someone as pretty as Mama?" So I decided to write this! And yes, it goes from fluff to angst to humour. It's the way I roll.**

**-0-**

"Papa?" A rough looking man wearing fur and warrior's garb smiled as he looked down at the young boy at his feet. The two looked nothing alike, since the man had tanned skin and messy red hair that framed his bushy eyebrows and dark chocolate eyes. The child at his leg was much less muscular than his father and had pale skin and sandy blonde hair that was mostly pulled away from his rather large and inquisitive emerald eyes and held back into a braid that fell down his back. "Papa, how'd you end up with a pretty lady like Mama with how you look?"

Papa Celt glanced over at his wife, who looked exactly like the child at his feet except without the eyebrows. Both were dainty and looked like dolls, like fragile pieces of beauty you thought would break at the slightest touch. The man laughed as he picked his son up and walked toward the woman. "You'll understand when you're older that it's about personality, not looks. Though you don't have to worry about that with how absolutely cute you are! What do you think, Alistair? Think he'll have to worry about people liking him for his personality?"

Alistair, a young teenager with his father's red hair glanced up from the sword he had been cleaning, a smirk on his face as he watched his father carrying the younger boy. "Yeah, he's adorable. So much so some people may think he's a girl. He needs to start watching his back." Cymry huffed in his father's arms and stuck his tounge out at the his now laughing brother.

"And that's why we keep you around, Alistair!" Papa Celt laughed as he sat next to his wife, who took Cymry and sat him in her lap. Alistair made a face and turned away, continuing to wash his sword even as Cymry hopped out of his mother's lap and ran to his brother, laughing and trying to get his attention. The parents started laughing when he got what he wanted, having to deal with a teasing Alistair, a continuous smirk on his face as the two somehow got into a game of tag. "So, where're the others?"

Mama Britannia smiled softly, leaning against her husband in the warmth of the sunlight bathing the lush, green field they were in. "Connor and Delaney decided to keep Arthur busy so we could have some time. But I suppose that's not going to happen." The woman watched, smiling as Cymry tripped and fell in his rush to get away from his brother, crying when he face planted. Alistair stopped and looked around for a minute in a panic, before picking his brother up and making silly faces to get the younger boy to smile and laugh again. It worked and soon enough they were in another game of tag, this time with Cymry chasing his brother. "Try not to trip again, Dear!" Britannia couldn't help but laugh when the younger son face planted again and the process restarted. "Well, at least those two keep each other on their toes."

Papa Celt hummed softly in agreement, smiling when he saw two of his other children running towards him, his only daughter holding his fifth. "Mama!" Connor, the second youngest, flung himself into his mother's grip, obviously in a panic as Delaney, his slightly oldler twin sister, ran up with a crying child. The two twins, like Alistair, had their father's red hair, Connor's in a mess on his head as his sister's was pulled back into a messy braid and were built more muscuarly than Cymry, taking after their father in every respect except the eyes. "Mama! Arthur started crying and won't stop!" Britannia chuckled and her crying son from her panicked daughter, smiling as she cradled the babe to her chest.

Cymry, on the other hand, had just fallen again and Alistair, with a quick glance to the rest of their family, picked the boy up and threw him over his shoulder before walking towards the others, throwing the smaller boy gently down into the soft grass and sitting next to him. Britannia smiled at Alistair, thanking him silently, before gesturing to a now glaring Cymry, who stood, giving one final glare to Alistair before taking Arthur in his arms, smiling as he and his mother started singing a lullaby. The rest of the family smiled at the two and listened, the voices and sunshine glinting off golden hair making them wonder if the three were truly related to them at all, or were instead angels that had been sent to earth to bless them.

-0-

Alistair grit his teeth, holding his brother against the sobs and screams racking his body. "Cymry...Cymry calm down! Just calm the fuck down!"

"You bastard! Our mother just died and you're telling me to calm down?" Cymry, now a teenager, pushed away from his older brother, insanity and fury glinting in his eyes. "How the fuck can you say things like that? It's your fault anyway! You're old enough! You're strong enough! You could have done something! You could have kept that bastard from hurting her! Kept him from-!"

Alistair couldn't stop his body and was just as shocked as Cymry when he slapped the boy before tangling his hand in golden hair, forcing the younger one to stare into his glaring eyes. "Don't you dare fucking say that again or you'll walk away much worse than this."

Cymry's body was racked with sobs again as he was tossed to the ground and his brother walked away.

"You shouldn't have done that. He's always been pretty fragile." Alistair glared down at Connor, who's pale face was streaked with tear stains.

"He's strong enough. 'Sides...'s not like I meant to..."

"That doesn't matter..." Connor glanced at his brother bfore turning his eyes away. "Alistair...Papa vanished into thin air...Mama was killed...your brother is breaking apart in front of you...It's alright to cry, you know."

"I don't cry. Never have, never will." Cymry's sobs broke the silence between them, making Alistair run a hand through his hair, metally composing himself, before walking over to his crying brother, gathering the teen into his arms and whispering soothing words as silent tears fell from his own eyes at the boy's continuous screaming. By the time it finally stopped, Alistair was out of tears and emotionally worn out.

"Ali..." Alistair's eyes widened at the new name. "Ali...I want Mama..." And suddenly the redhead was flooded with emotions, holding his brother to his chest as he choked back tears.

-0-

"Hey, Bryn, is it? You have a middle name right?" Alfred F. Jones smiled at his former empire's older brother, admiring how similar they looked. They had the same golden blonde hair and emerald eyes that reminded Alfred of a meadow. "Just like me! That makes you automatically awesome and hero-like!"

"I suppose...you're right about the middle name, though." Bryn grinned a bit cheekily, smiling at his "nephew".

"Then...what's your full name?"

"Bryn Cymry Kirkland."

"Cymry? Why a name so hard to pronounce?"

"It's not hard." Bryn laughed. "And it was the name my parents gave me. Arthur tried to make me change it...but...I couldn't let that name go. Letting that name die meant truly letting my parents die. And I couldn't handle that." Bryn looked away sadly, his eyes darkened. "It would be like if you had lost Arthur while you were still a colony."

"I-I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." Bryn's words were cut off as the American stood and walked away from him. "Oh well." The boy glanced up, confused, when he suddenly felt a face bury itself in his hair. "Ali? What's up?"

Bryn flinched a bit when his brother chuckled, the vibrations foreign against his scalp. "I've always loved this golden hair of yours, Cymry. Makes ya look like an angel. Unlike Arthur. It's just plain ugly on him."

"You...do realize we have the same hair...right?" Bryn chuckled, pulling away so he could stare at his brother. "It's the exact same."

Alistair looked appaled, his face priceless. "You dare slander your beautiful hair by saying it's the same as that thing's?"

"What? It is!"

"No it's not! Let's start with the color. Your's is gold. Like angel's bells, tolling in the distance and rolling over th green hills that are your eyes. It's like cherubs shining a light on all humanity singing "halleulia"! His is...well...like hay." Bryn couldn't help but snicker at his brother's over-exaggerated body movements as he spoke. "And next, the texture. Yours is soft, like butterfly wings as they fly through the sky on a perfect summer day! Like the clouds angels rest on, which, trust me, is only the softest. While his...is like hay." Bryn was outright laughing now. "And don't even get me started on smell! Oh goodness...Yours is like the sweetest flower right after the first rain of spring, the one that all the bees and hummingbirds flock to! While his...is totally like hay." Bryn was literally rolling on the floor at this poitn, unable to contain any self control he may or may not have had. "And humidity! See, when it's humid, yours poofs all cutely. It makes you look like a little pomeranian. While his...is like hay." Bryn's laughter was shrill shrieks now, filling the air in a contagious way that made even Alistair laugh. "So, in conclusion...Arthur's hair...is hay."

"Why the bloody hell are you wankers talking about my hair? It's perfectly fine." Arthur glared as he walked into the room, hearing nothing but the last sentance and the shrieks of laughter.

"Let's face it, Bryn just has better hair than you." Alistair shrugged as he spoke, his face expressionless. "Always has, always will."

"You bloody twat!" Bryn smiled, his laughter dying down as Arthur started chasing Alistair around the room, holding his foot out so that England face planted.

"Way to go, Bryn! Now It's time to get out of here!" Bryn shrieked as Alistair picked him up, throwing him over his shoulder as he raced out of the room.


End file.
